Memories of an East End Child

By Violet Harrington

From a childhood in London's East End, lived in the so-called Isle of Dogs, Violet Harrington traces an early life through the worst times and in poor circumstances to becoming a fashion model. Often missing what seemed to be opportunities, she becomes a wife and mother.
Her engaging yet romantic story draws us into a variegated life that lively illustrates her childhood hardships during the second world war and being bullied as a child. As it moves on through adult life we are presented with an empathetic glimpse into all the changes that happened in the world around her.
Her ideas of success often differed from her contemporaries' but her inspiring life, still an active thinker in her late 90's, is a lesson to us that true beauty lies within.
This book inspires us to live our lives to the full. Together with the companion book of her poems we discover this writer's talent for poetry and literature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Texianer Verlag
• Release date: May 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224939190

Book preview

THE AUTHOR

I was born on the 12th of February 1927 and named Violet Eunice Smith. I became a Lucy Clayton fashion model in 1947 and it was suggested that I use the name Lorraine. So while modelling I was known as Lorraine Smith.

In 1949 I married Dr David Ropschitz and so became Violet Eunice Ropschitz. I divorced David in 1974 and five years later while on holiday in New Zealand I met Cyril Harrington. I went to New Zealand to live with Cyril where we opened the first sun tanning clinic in the country.

I decided that Violet Ropschitz was not a suitable business name, so I became Lorraine Roxon. Roxon was the name used by several family members and my three children used the name Roxon at school. Lillian Roxon is well known for her journalistic career in America and wrote ‘The Encyclopaedia of Rock’.

My youngest son Gordon, legally became Gordon Roxon and my eldest son, Manfred Roxon became an investigative journalist. So, with the name Lorraine from my modelling career and Roxon I became known in business and the art world as Lorraine Roxon. This proved to be successful and later I became the director of the Lorraine Roxon Beauty School.

In 1993 Cy and I married, and I became Violet Harrington. I still use the name Lorraine Roxon for my paintings, sculpture and writing. I am mostly known now as Lorraine except by my family who still call me Violet.

Memories of an East End Child

Violet Harrington

The Isle of Dogs is an area in the East End of London. Some say it was given that name because Queen Elizabeth I ran her dogs on the island when she was in residence at Greenwich Palace. Others say its present name is a corruption of the ‘Isle of Docks’ over the centuries, but no one really knows for certain. I like to think of Queen Elizabeth with her courtiers, crossing the Thames in their royal barges and letting the dogs run. It certainly conjures up a more interesting picture. It is called an island because the area is surrounded by water and it is situated in the ‘U’ of the River Thames. To leave the island, you had to cross a bridge or go under the river by a foot tunnel.

When World War II was declared I was twelve-and-a-half years of age. I had previously attended Cubitt Town Infants School but had passed my exams and was now at Millwall Central Grammar School. My name was Violet Smith and we were a family of six. There was Mum, Dad and my three younger brothers. I remember us as a close, loving family. I believe the war did a lot of harm, but as the saying goes, Out of evil cometh good, and the one good that came out of the bombing was the demolition of houses ridden with bugs, mice and fleas. Most of these slum houses were owned by the church, and I can understand why my parents were non-believers and could see no good in religion when church authorities allowed such houses to exist, whilst collecting rent from poor people. But our house was not one of them, and Dad, being a master-builder and decorator, kept it in good order.

The area is now very different and part of it is called the Docklands. New, expensive town houses have been built where the wharves once were, and by their sides are moorings for their owners’ boats. I have even heard it called a yuppie area.

As a child, I would sit in Island Gardens, a park at the end of our street. The gardens had a playground with a cafeteria and the river Thames flowed past. This is where the underground tunnel to Greenwich is situated. It stands as it was, unchanged by the war. Before the war it was usual for me to sit on one of the park benches on my own and watch the boats go up and down the river laden with cargo. The Thames was always dark brown and murky with bits of old wood and rubbish floating along in the current. Hours would go by and I would write down the names and draw the flags of the boats as they sailed along the river.

Because I was a child with a lively imagination quite a lot of my time was spent daydreaming. My thoughts would carry me away to the countries the boats had come from. Here there was a particular smell, which can still easily evoke memories of the past. When a mist surrounded the area, the smell became more prominent. Of the many things that made up the smell was something called locust. There would be lots of it lying on the ground in the street near the wharves and we children would pick it up and eat it. It was sweet to taste and many years later while on holiday in Spain I saw this curved fruit hanging from the tree. In Spain, the fruit was a nice, fresh, green colour, but it was black and dried when we used to eat it. We had no idea whether it was suitable for human consumption, but we all ate it and no harm came to us. I think it was ground down and used as cattle feed. In those days, children never thought of hygiene and maybe a few of the germs we picked up gave us some protection from disease.

Lots of children would go to the wharves and play on the barges moored by the river, but my brothers and I were never allowed to go near them because Mum and Dad told us it was dangerous and that children had been known to drown or be crushed between two barges. We never heard of any child getting hurt, but that was the story Mum and Dad told us and it was good enough to keep us away. I did go with a friend a couple of times and was amazed at the pieces of broken white clay pipe that were washed up on the muddy beach. I would take a few pieces and use them to draw hopscotch lines on the pavements. How they came to be there, I still do not know. The only reason I can think of is that sailors threw them in the sea when they were broken. They must have been discarded years ago and so they were of great interest to me.

We were lucky children as a park backed onto the end of our garden and although a great deal of poverty existed in the East End, children were never short of parks. There was Greenwich Park with Plum Pudding Hill and Island Gardens where the large domed entrance to the foot tunnel was situated. There was also Blackheath and Kidmore, but they were too far away to go to alone.

We lived in Stebondale Street, which led to Island Gardens. The park was home to a round iron lift built in Victorian times. A ride down the lift and a walk through the tunnel and then up another lift and you would arrive in Greenwich. Sometimes, I would play a game with myself imagining that the tunnel suddenly cracked and the river came rushing in and I would run quickly through the tunnel in order not to drown. White glazed tiles covered the tunnel’s curved walls, which were always wet with condensation; I used to think this was the river seeping through. We would shout while running through the tunnel so we could hear the hollow sound and the echo of our voices. I can still hear the noise of the gates as they closed. It was all so exciting and the use of the tunnel was free for everyone, and still is today.

Greenwich is of course famous all over the world—Greenwich Meridian, Greenwich Mean Time and the fact that Queen Elizabeth I resided there. I remember Greenwich Park and the worn brass handles that gave a measure of some sort, but I can’t remember what it represented. I only know we always tried to stretch our arms to cover the space. I bet the brass handles are still there. Not far from Greenwich is Blackheath, which was a very special place on account of the big fair that took place once a year.

In those days you could win really big prizes. We would leave home when it was dark and the fair would be lit up like fairyland. Mum and Dad would give us sixpence to spend, which was a lot of money. This was a special treat and we were able to afford lots of rides and played on the glass cabinets with little electric cranes inside them. We would try to manoeuvre the cranes to pick up one of the gleaming prizes that lay amongst the jellybeans. It was all a matter of skill, but we were never lucky.

Mum and Dad would join us on the rides. They had married in their teens and were still very young and enjoyed the fair as much as we did. It was good to see them happy, as I knew it was hard sometimes for Dad to provide for us all. Women stayed home and looked after the house and family in those days, so there was only one breadwinner and there were times when life could be hard. Fairs such as those I knew as a child do not seem to be around any more and those today do not offer the big prizes that were there years ago. A plastic toy of little worth will not make a child’s eyes light up as ours did. It is very sad that children today have no knowledge of the wonderful fairs of bygone days which gave such pleasure to many children who lived dull and drab lives.

Many children lived with fathers who came home drunk, spending more on drink than they gave their wives to live on. They would cause havoc and violence in the home and produce baby after baby which they could not afford to keep. Older children were often forced to live out their childhoods as drudges, cleaning and helping the poor mothers look after the little ones, sometimes having to miss school if their mother became sick. For many children a lively imagination was the only way they could add colour to their lives. I believe that it is due to the use of the imagination that the East End of London produced so many well-known writers and theatrical personalities.

Our house was a rented, double-fronted shop. The living area was behind the shop and the